


Am I a Villain?

by MyNamesBelle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Powers, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Short Story, Villains to Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyNamesBelle/pseuds/MyNamesBelle
Summary: When this villain takes things too far and gets the hero she most trusts killed, what will she do to fix her mistake? What will it cost her?
Kudos: 5





	Am I a Villain?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story I wrote in one night! I really love the concept of it but I was worried if I kept writing it I would ruin it (lol kind of the point of writing but whatever) so I'll come back to it one day, but I really like it as this short story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> xoxo

For a moment my mind couldn’t comprehend what exactly I was looking at. For a moment my mind tried to protect me, but I pushed past that until the image wasn’t blurry anymore. The eyes stared into me with a sudden emptiness that was normally replaced by anger, or fear, or even maybe happiness; if he let himself that is. I was distracted from his eyes as a stark red line dripped it’s way down his face, disturbing the perfect pale skin; clashing with the bright blue hue his eyes took when he wasn’t using his powers.

Suddenly my eyes were scanning his face. I felt frantic as I looked for what had caused the bleeding, but my eyes refused to see for a moment again. When my eyes finally focused on his forehead, I was startled to see a bullet hole. His wavy dark brown hair stretched to cover his forehead, but it was weighed down on either side, leaving a clear shot of his forehead.

My eyes took in the rest in one moment. No longer was he standing watching me with a laugh in his eyes and a frown on his face, no, rather he had slumped gracefully against the exposed brick wall. He hadn’t changed into his costume before coming, he was wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt. I could feel the weight of my gun, heavy in my hand, as if suddenly it was a weight, wanting nothing but to be dropped and discarded on the floor. I couldn’t resist and heard the clatter the same time I felt the cool wetness touch my cheeks. I reached up gently, but my hands froze in their movement as a scream sounded behind me. 

I didn’t stop to look, I didn’t stop to think, I just reacted. The cold metal of my gun met my fingers and I was sliding it into the holster along my waist before I could blink; practice I guess, did make perfect. I was halfway to his body before I had time to realize it and froze when I did. There was a reason I don’t touch dead bodies, there was a reason I hadn’t killed anyone in years, hadn’t killed anyone since I’d last been forced to; but I pushed all thoughts from my mind. Emptying my mind wasn’t the hard part, it never was, it was finding myself again that was.

My arms were wrapped around his torso, pulling him upright against me, but he was heavier than I had expected, almost tumbling my body back down to the ground. No. I fought the power that I’d chained down within my body and hauled myself up, dragging him along with me. I began pushing us towards the mouth of the alley, all the while hearing screaming and talking, and the faint sounds of sirens rushing towards us.

Then I heard the worst of all:

“Is that Agent T?!” I heard someone scream. And then they were all screaming it, screaming his name, his real name, as if it would suddenly wake him up; as if it would call him from the grave.

I knew before long the other heroes would be alerted, and they could reach me long before the cops would. I must’ve looked deranged enough because the screaming crowd still moved away and luckily there was no wanna-be hero rushing to save the day. This was somewhat surprising, I was a low-rank villain, the only reason Tucker comes after me is a personal stubbornness only he could possess; the other hero’s refused to deal with me, according to him at least.

I could see the burgundy color of my car just beyond the crowd and push through with renewed vigor. I made it in record time and pushed his body against the door, pulling the door open and shoving him in, all the while pulling my gun out of the back of my pants.

More screams came from the crowd, varying from “Tucker”, to “Gun”, and someone yelling louder “I can fix this”. It took odd looks from some of the more sane members of the crowd to realize I was yelling the last part. I shook my head and waved the gun around slightly, my finger nowhere near the trigger, the crowd still moved away, fear clouding their expressions, I was in the car driving the next time I blinked.

I was minutes away from my apartment but I couldn’t really go there could I? I had one of the most beloved, charming hero’s California had ever seen, lying dead in the back seat of my car. I felt the wetness raking down my face again, tears attempting to carve caverns through my face, I felt nothing at that moment, but my body betrayed the thoughts running underneath the dark river I’d filled my brain with. I was driving flawlessly without paying direct attention, and I was surprised to find myself pulling into the parking lot for a rundown bakery. 

The parking lot itself was full of cars, but in the city, people will park wherever they can. I knew the bakery was closed because it was owned by a friend who intended to flip the shop but hadn’t yet. I stumbled as I got out of the car, almost rolling my ankle, but I caught the door in my panic and pulled myself up.

I could feel the energy draining away from my body, but I reached into the car and grabbed my gun, sliding it into the holster before pulling a car drape out of the back; Tucker’s body lying almost on top of it. I quickly covered my car, wanting to avoid attracting attention. With one last glance for anyone nearby, I pulled his heavy body out of the car. For a moment I could smell the scent that followed him around, some sharp spice that sent shocks up your nose and something of electrical fire underneath it. I was sucked into countless memories of his powers working against him in random moments. His control of electricity wasn’t always the best. I was pulled away by the faint sounds of sirens.

Luckily, one of the windows had been left open, completely open, stupidly enough; I managed to make a mental note to bring it up with Eli the next time I saw him. I had my body through the window and managed to pull Tucker’s through with a great deal of effort. I could feel the adrenaline draining away, but I stood and forced the window shut, locking it and making sure the others were locked. I glanced around for a moment and found the bakery still somewhat furnished, but I resisted the urge to collapse onto a nearby stool, rather I wrapped my arms under his and pulled him into the kitchen. It was the only area that was barren of windows, and a part of my head whispered it would have what I needed there; I ignored that but kept pulling his body.

The moment the door could close without hitting his feet, I dropped him and stumbled away. I caught myself on a counter and slumped to the floor, the parallel of his body falling after I shot him playing in my head.

Tucker is one of the hero’s that busted the mafia I was sold to when I was young. My parents had named me Scarlett, no last name, and sold me to a mafia that needed a strong necromancer. When they’d first gotten me I could hardly raise roadkill, but over the years my powers increased. That was somewhat of an understatement, my father was one of the best necromancers in the country, and I’d surpassed his level by the time I was 12. 

That never meant I was strong though, I was just a good tool to be used, and well behaved too, for I had grown up knowing what misbehaving had meant. Flashes of dark cells filled with rotting bodies still haunted my mind, but they’d saved me from that when I was 17. I mean not intentionally, I was just as wanted and evil as the rest of the mafia to them, but I didn’t act like it. Most of them thought it was a trick, a cute little thing like me was just as evil as the men who enslaved me and forced me to use my powers for evil; except Tucker hadn’t believed it. I think he fought to have them release me, but I think it was one of the biggest mistakes he’d ever made.

There was no follow up on releases for evil necromancers. I guess they assumed I had somewhere to go, so they just let me walk out; a 17-year-old who had barely seen a world outside of cages and graveyards. It made me angry. Not angry enough to do something I’d regret, but angry enough that I caused trouble for them, the hero’s that is; for Tucker. It took a while before I managed to get a gun, but then I kept causing problems. Just small things, big enough that they would alert the hero’s, a couple of hostages stuck in a McDonalds while I robbed it for money to pay for food or a place to live, but that was when they thought I would actually kill someone. The first time I hadn’t been quick enough and got caught, it was Tucker or “ Agent T” standing on the other side of a table giving me a look I couldn’t read.

That made me angry too. He was my age, maybe older, who was he to judge me for having to live like this. After that, it was always him who found me, wrapping his electricity around my wrists and pulling me away from a scene. He was never angry to have to deal with me, but he always seemed slightly surprised, slightly disappointed. He’d get angry and fight me if I fought, but sometimes I would get a glimpse into his eyes and see just how tired he was, and I’d just walk out and promise to behave.

I don’t know how I hadn’t seen the inside of a police cell. When I’d first started stealing I did it cause I had to. I’d never been to school, I didn’t have any special skills I was willing to use, I sure as hell couldn't get a job. So when I stole I kept the money, but now three years since I’d been released from that police station I’d figured out other ways to make money. I’d managed to get friends and start a life and even keep a job waitressing, but a dark part of me liked causing trouble.

The fear in people’s eyes was like a fresh breath of air. I was no longer trapped in a cell pushing my power into people’s bodies, I was controlling the power and leaving others frightened. But I never liked it enough to kill someone. I never liked it enough to even injure someone.

Every time Tucker would catch me intimidating some jerk after work or threatening a low-level politician who was already corrupt, he would cuff me with his power striking into my skin, not enough to hurt, not if he didn’t want it to; but enough to make me drop my gun and walk away every time. He would take me to the tallest building downtown, the building everyone saw hero’s flying out of, and he would take me to a holding cell and just talk to me. At first, I wouldn’t give it an inch, but it got boring after three years. We would talk until I fell asleep in my chair or he got called out. He’d release me after 24 hours and a promise that I would behave. Yet we still had those talks. Never anything serious, except for the time I had a nightmare and he convinced me to talk about it, about my time with the mafia. I didn’t draw any attention for a while after that, embarrassed that I’d cracked like an over-easy egg; embarrassed that he’d finally gotten to me. He almost looked relieved the next time I saw him; almost.

“I thought you’d finally given up on being the world's worst villain,” he’d said. I’d sputtered out that I didn’t know what he meant, and for the first time he just laughed and motioned me to step away from the guy my gun was pointed at. The safety was still on, but he was just some douche that wouldn’t stop groping women at the bar I worked at, he had no clue that I wasn’t about to shoot him; I could practically taste his fear, but I slipped the gun into its holster and trailed after Tucker. The guy screamed thanks to “Agent T” from behind, but I saw Tucker roll his eyes. He asked later why I had pulled the gun, and when I explained it and showed him the darkening bruise on my arm he let me go without taking me to the tower.

I must’ve fallen asleep in the haziness of my memories because my eyes fluttered open to the sun streaming underneath the crack of the door. I jerked away as I realized I’d slumped all the way to the floor, lying awfully close to the hero I’d killed. The hero that had saved me more times than I could count.

I was confused for a moment remembering the night before. 

I’d gotten off of work and seen a man stalking a woman. I mean he may not have been stalking her but he looked predatory enough that I felt no guilt drawing my gun and clicking the safety off. The woman had run screaming, hand already reaching to call the cops, a hero, anyone. But I just focused on the guy in the dark alley. Street light lit the mouth of the alley but we were far enough in that the man's face was shadowed. I still felt his fear and after a few moments of doing nothing but terrifying him, I demanded his wallet. Tucker must’ve come around than cause he was angry. He didn’t know why I had chosen the man and would likely presume I was just robbing him blind, hell I’d done it before.

“Do you have a tracker on me or something?” I’d asked, my tone filled with a sharp snark. I took the wallet from the guy's hand and moved to release him, but as my gun lifted from the man's face, I felt fire lash out across my wrist. I held a scream and kept my finger from squeezing down on the trigger, but only barely.

“Yes, actually, I do. Because I don’t trust you not to end up hurting someone.” Tucker’s words were filled with anger I hadn’t heard before. His power accompanied that anger, slicing pain through my wrist as he tugged his power like a rope. The man had turned and ran as soon as I’d moved away from him. I had no objections; even if he had been stalking the woman, I couldn’t have killed him, most would say I lacked the guts; I’d say I had the decency not to. I moved my other hand to click the safety on my gun, knowing one wrong squeeze could end a life, but his power lashed to my other wrist. I couldn’t help but scream at that time. I stayed standing, but he kept pulling his electrical tethers like they were rope, trying to jerk me to my hands and knees; but that I refused. I wouldn’t roll over because he was angry. I pulled back with my hands harder than he’d expected.

“Couldn’t you just have been good Scarlet? Couldn’t you have just figured out a way to be good?!” He yelled then. The pain buzzing up my arm intensified with each word he spoke like his anger was spiking through the electricity. On his last word, I felt my hand spasm. I didn’t want it, but I couldn’t stop it; the pain was too much in my hands, too much in my head to let me think about it.

A shot rang out. I’d know it was quiet, but the buzzing had been loud in my ears and suddenly it was silent, except for the sound of cloth scraping brick. Then it was all moving too fast. Then I was here, staring at the body of the hero who had saved the villain.

Except I could hear his voice telling me every time he released me:

“You're not a villain Scarlet, you just think you have to be one.” Every time I’d told him he was wrong, and now I knew he was.

I glanced around the kitchen and took stock of my body simultaneously. I could feel the pain shocking up my wrists now, I could feel the slightly disturbed flesh where it had almost started to burn, that especially hurt, in two perfect rings around my wrists. 

I knew I could fix this. If I hadn’t waited so damn long he could’ve been perfect, but touching a dead body like I had dragged him around drains a lot out of me. It takes power to hold back from resurrecting someone, but if I hadn’t held back, I’d use my own life as a sacrifice to bring him back, and I didn’t want that. There were other ways where we could both live, though I wasn’t always assured survival. 

Bearing that in mind I scoured the kitchen for pen and paper and wrote a note.

“Sorry I shot you, if you're reading this I probably used too much power or I’m dead. Sorry for always being the bad guy. Xx Scarlett”

Direct but enough information that it should—would be fine, and an apology, just in case I couldn’t make it in person.

I quickly found a knife and thanked some kind of god that there was a large bag of salt left in the kitchen. I carefully poured a large ring of salt around his body, and then sprinkled it over his body in a thin layer. I’d never used salt when I was forced to raise bodies for the mafia, and I’d seen the backlash it could cause. I was reaching through other planes and pulling souls from the grave, sometimes you miss; sometimes something grabs you back. The salt is for purity if some sort of demon came through it wouldn’t be able to leave the circle, let alone move with salt touching its skin.

Staring down at his empty body I took the knife and made a large cut on either arm. Blood spilled down my hands immediately, the pain took a moment to set in. Without blood to feed my powers, I would simply consume myself trying to raise him, but the blood feeds in my power in a different way. I stepped carefully into the circle and touched either side of his face, still standing over him.

Searching for a soul isn’t difficult, but it is draining no matter how skilled a necromancer you are. I was unsurprised to find his soul still floating nearby, they tend not to leave the body for a day or two; confused on what’s happening and wanting to stay near something familiar. I used some invisible hand that I could feel within my body to reach out and pull the soul back towards the body. It was that simple, but I’d never pulled a soul that fell apart in my grip.

I could feel pieces of who he was floating away, the same way I could feel my blood dripping down my arms. The pieces I had grabbed were shoved into the empty shell of his body, slowly rebuilding his consciousness, and patching his body. If I focused my eyes away from the invisible souls I would be able to see the bullet hole I’d made stitching itself back together. I reached for the other pieces, letting my body move away from his without letting him go, putting him together with nothing but skill and pure will.

If I wanted to raise him as a shell of himself, a zombie I could control, I would’ve stopped there; but I wanted Tucker to be himself, not a harsh shadow of himself. I pulled the life and blood within my own body and pushed it into him. This was the scary part; his body would take over and bring him back if I pushed just the right amount but if I gave too little, it would just disappear. If I gave too much, I wouldn’t make it out alive. It was about a balance between life and death. I felt the emptying pull from deep within my body, somewhere deep enough that my soul could hide, but that pull filled his body until a groan left my mouth and I cut it off. For a moment I thought I’d failed, he lay just as motionless as he had in the alleyway, but then he took a deep shuddering breath and a coughing fit began. I took a shallow breath and collapsed to the floor next to him, not wanting to crush him when he was remembering to breathe again. 

For a moment it was all I could do to breathe and listen to him breathe. He began trying to talk faster than anyone I’d ever resurrected, but I could feel the drain pulling me away from my conscious thoughts. I lazily moved my hand to the side of my body, searching blindly for the note I’d written, when my hand found the somewhat crumpled note I moved it towards him. I made the effort to turn my head and watch him read the note.

I watched understanding and panic dawn on his face, I was glad he didn’t have the empty shocked look carved into his features anymore. I gave a slight smile when he looked at me, at least it was meant to be a smile but he seemed to panic more.

“Scarlett? Scarlett, please! What happens if you fall asleep? Scarlett?” He was clutching my shoulders but I could hardly focus anymore, blackness was creeping along the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw was his light blue eyes flashing a startling white as he tried to control his powers.


End file.
